Wait For Me
by anabelletaylor
Summary: When Christian meets Ana, she changes his life. He's an angry teen; she's a dark and twisty preteen. Throughout the years, they establish a casual arrangement, as neither do hearts and flowers. But after twelve years, the lines are starting to cross. Ana asks him to wait for her; he'd wait forever if it'd meant she'd stay for good. HEA/ No Cheating. Rated M for future lemons.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hi guys! This is my first story, so please let me know what you think! I just had this idea in my head and couldn't get rid of it so here we go. I'll do my best to update frequently, so bear with me! I'm completely on my own, so forgive me for any typos.

 **CHAPTER 1: I Did Something Bad**

CPOV (15 years old - 2006):

As I clean up the rubble from Elena's yard, I contemplate if I've pushed Grace too far this time. She and Carrick don't know that I hear her crying at night each time I get expelled from yet another one of Seattle's elite private schools. At this point, I can count on one hand the number of schools remaining that I have yet to be expelled from. It's not that I intentionally try to be expelled; I do enjoy the material in some of my classes and I do understand the value of an education. School is just difficult for me because normal teenagers don't understand what it's like to shun the touch of others. I've seen Elliot's friends clap him on the back or randomly jump on him even. Shunning touch and interaction tends to lead the idiots I call classmates to draw wrongful conclusions. When asshats start getting on my case for being gay, which is nothing but a stupid rumor, I have to defend myself. I get that using my fists isn't the best way, but it's the only way I know.

Suddenly, I hear an explosion a few houses down and a rise of smoke appears in the sky. In the wealthy neighborhoods of Bellevue, the houses are massive and spread apart, so whatever happened must have been huge. I drop the handles of the wheelbarrow and sprint towards where the explosion was, glancing at the window and sighing with relief when I realize Elena wasn't currently watching. I'd be lying if I said her constant gazing at me through the window wasn't unsettling. It's only day one, too. Part of my punishment is no phone, so I realize I can't call 911 to report the emergency but it's rare for people in this neighborhood to not have children. No child deserves to be stuck in such a horrifying sight.

As I arrive at the house, I see a hooded figure disappearing into the woods. Before I can stop and think about the dangers of giving pursuit, I'm chasing after him as I hear sirens approaching the house. I catch up to him in a meadow and yell, "Hey! Stop!" There's still several yards between us.

He spins around, and I realize it's not a he. It's a she. Furthermore, she's a child; she looks no older than 12. "Are you okay? I saw the accident. No one followed me. Whoever blew up your house can't hurt you." I try pacifying her.

Her eyes dart around the meadow, as if searching for an escape. Her expression flashes pain, and I realize she's been clutching her arm. When she pulls her hand away, I see that it's covered in blood.

"You're hurt!" Unknowingly, I've stepped closer to her. "I'll take you to the hospital."

"No!" She blurts. "No hospitals." She repeats in a calmer tone.

"Why not?" I ask, confused.

"I'm faking my death." She answers, casually.

"What?"

"The person who blew up my house can't hurt me because I blew up the house." She says.

"What?" I know I sound stupid right now.

"Look, you won't understand. No one will." She rolls her eyes. A spark of nuisance rises inside me.

"Has anyone ever told you that rolling your eyes is rude?"

She stares at me as if she can't comprehend how dumb I am. "That would imply that I had any sort of parental guidance. Has anyone ever told you what they say about assuming? "

Her words shake me to the core, and my thoughts immediately travel to the crack-whore. My formative years lacked parental guidance, until Grace adopted me.

"I'm sorry." I sigh and grip my hair with my hands. "Look, you need help with that." I point at her arm.

She shrugs. "It's not that bad. I just need some thread and a needle."

"You're going to stitch that by yourself?" I ask, incredulously.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

Wow, she's almost as bad as me when it comes to giving up information. I should just leave her here and forget I ever found her. I should go back to Elena's house before she tells Grace I've fucked up again.

I eye the size of her sweatshirt, which looks to be three sizes too big. It might just fit me. "Give me your sweatshirt." I say. "I'll give you my t-shirt. You can at least tie off the wound to reduce the bleeding. My mom has a first aid kit at home that has a surgical needle and thread. You can fix yourself up when it's safe to leave here." I can't let this bleeding child just run off to God knows where.

"What?" She asks.

"I feel like that's my line." I laugh. "Look, I'm already in so much trouble. I'm supposed to be cleaning rubble a few houses down but I heard the explosion and I had to see what happened. I'm not going to let someone bleed out on me; that would just make my situation and day even worse, okay?"

"You should stay away from the Lincolns." She says simply.

"What? How did you know?" I don't remember saying which house I was at.

"You're young. You're a boy. I'd bet you might even be a troubled child." She replies, wincing as she takes off her sweatshirt. She walks up to me with it in hand. "Elena likes them young and troubled."

I take off my t-shirt and trade her. "How do you know this?" I whisper. Elena's odd and forward behavior suddenly seems so predator-like. I vow to never return to that house.

"Do you know who lived in that house?" She gestures toward the house we had run away from.

I shake my head, putting the sweatshirt on. She holds out my t-shirt. "I need you to tear a strip of it off. Then tie that strip really tight above the wound. Stephen Morton lived in that house. The rubble you're cleaning up from the pool installation? The pool was installed to hide two dead bodies."

"How do you know this?" I'm tiring of her vague answers. How on earth does a child even come to find out all of this? Mia's preoccupied with girly shit like ballet and dolls.

"Because I'm Morton's former step-daughter. My mother is one of the dead bodies." She calmly says.

"How can you be so casual?" I'm stunned. She's not crying or showing emotion.

"I have a axis-two personality disorder. I don't feel emotions. Well, I don't feel most emotions. Anger is something I'm good at. So is finding out the truth. Morton killed my mother to get unfettered access to me. He tried to touch me if you understand where I'm going with this, so I poisoned him and blew up the house to cover my tracks. I'm faking my death so I don't go back into the system." She explains. "If you try to repeat any of this, don't. I don't particularly enjoy hurting people, but I can't have anyone ruining this plan."

I know I should be terrified, but instead I'm concerned. I'm angry that some adult tried to rape a girl my sister's age, horrified that he killed her mother to do it, and appalled that she had no one to go to. I don't agree with her actions, but I understand. Jesus, this girl sounds like me. I mean, I don't have a personality disorder, according to the multitude of therapists I've been forced to see, but anger is definitely the only emotion I'm good at. I love my family, but I'm horrible at it. I don't remember my time in the system, but she's right about not wanting to be in it. "Anger is the only emotion I'm good at too." I say. "I won't speak a word to anyone. I just want to help you fix up your arm. Okay?"

"Okay." She says.

"I'm Christian, by the way."

"I haven't decided on who I'm going to be yet." She looks down at the ground.

"You look like a princess." I blurt out. "My little sister is obsessed with all things Disney. You look like Anastasia as a kid." She really does. She's got blue eyes that are so bright and brown hair.

She thinks for a moment. "Anastasia sounds so pretentious. I'll go with Ana."

"Nice to meet you, Ana."

* * *

CPOV (27 years old - 2018):

Holding a glass of whiskey, I stare out at Seattle's skyline. I hear the ping of the elevator and turn around to see Grace stepping out. It's nearly 3 AM, so I'm very confused to see her.

Walking to meet her in the center of the room, I lean in to kiss her cheek. "Mother, what brings you by?" I ask.

"Can't a mother just miss her son?" Her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

"Mom?" I ask, alarmed.

She sighs. "I had a nightmare. One where we never found out about the monster's depravity." Immediately, I know she's referring to the Elena saga.

"But we did." I try to reassure her. "She'll be in jail for the rest of her life."

"How did I not see the signs? I sent you to her house. If it weren't for that awful accident at the Mortons, I don't know what would have happened. Is it awful of me to be grateful for their tragedy because it possibly saved you from a different one?" She whispers.

"She was quite deceptive. And it was an accident. Nothing in the world could have stopped it. You can't drive yourself crazy with imagined hypotheticals. Besides, I cleaned up my act after that day, didn't I?" I will always keep my promise to Ana.

"You've always been so incredibly wise, my sweet boy. And you did. I don't know what inspired your change, but I have always been so proud of you." My mother sighs. "I'm sorry for barging in this late. I'll be on my way soon. I just needed to see you. To make sure you're okay. "

"I'm always up." I shrug. I only sleep well a few nights in the year, when a certain brunette with blue eyes comes rolling through my life and bed. She never stays for more than two nights at a time, and I never ask her to. In part, because I can't handle the rejection, and in part, because our current arrangement works.

My mother's face floods with concern. "It's not good for your health to sleep so little. Have you talked to Flynn about this?" Flynn is my current expensive charlatan, as Ana calls him.

"Somewhat. There's not much to discuss." My nightmares never change.

"Will you come to family dinner this weekend?" She asks. "Elliot wants us to meet someone."

"I can try. I can't promise." I do hate disappointing Grace, but I've felt slightly out of place at family dinner in the past seven years. There's been friction since I dropped out of Harvard. I'm not sure that it matters that I've been incredibly successful.

"I understand."

"Do you need to stay in your guest room? It's late." I ask. I have enough guest rooms in Escala that my family members each have one.

"No, that's okay. Thank you for offering. I should get back to Cary though." She answers.

"Okay, drive safe. Text me when you get home." I kiss her cheek again and walk her to the elevator.

When the elevator door closes behind her, I return to my spot overlooking the city. I think of Ana constantly. I don't know what I'd call her. Although neither of us believe in the illusive "more," calling her just a friend would be a slight to what we have. I always fear for her safety, and I've had enough nightmares where she never makes it back to me. She doesn't tell me about her work, to keep me safe, and I have to trust her. But the past couple of times she's left, it's taken more and more of me not to beg her to stay wrapped in my sheets.

The phone Ana gave me rings. I always keep it on me, just in case. It's a burner that she changes out when she comes through. I've never understood how picky she is about how she communicates, but I go along with it.

"Ana?" I ask as I pick up.

"Christian, it's me." Over the years, I've gotten really good at identifying her subtle emotions. She claims that she has a personality disorder that prevents her from feeling emotions other than anger, but I've learned otherwise. Right now, I can hear subtle worry in her voice.

"Ana, is everything okay?"

"I just wanted to hear your voice." She says. "Listen, I'm caught up in a horrible mess right now. When I'm done sorting through it, can I come to you?"

"Always. You know you can stay whenever and for as long as you want. Okay?"

"Okay." She whispers.

"Ana, do you need help? Please talk to me." I've never heard her sound so out of control.

"No!" She almost yells. "I need you to stay out of this. I need to finish this, and then I'm coming to you. Wait for me, please."

"I'll wait. I promise. You know I'm not patient though." I tease her, trying to lighten the mood. I've long learned that prying only makes her shut down, and I don't want to push her away.

"Delayed gratification, Mr. Grey," She fires back, sounding like my Ana again. "I have to go."

"Laters, baby. Come to me as soon as you can." I whisper. It's been a joke we've tossed around since my days at Harvard, after Elliot visited me and inevitably slept with a girl on my floor.

"Laters, baby. Now go to bed." She hangs up before I can say anything else.

"I'd rather be in bed with you." I mumble as I make my way towards my bedroom. My king bed always seems too big when Ana isn't in it. She's horrible at sharing the blankets and space, so there are no sides to the bed. I miss how our limbs intertwine and being up all night having incredible, passionate sex.

A/N 2: That's a wrap on the first chapter! Let me know if you think this is something worth continuing. I've got a few chapters written up - in the next one, we'll see the continuation of Ana and Christian's first meeting as kids from Ana's perspective and what's happening currently with her. Ana is OOC, and these two have an interesting journey ahead of them towards admitting what they feel for each other. I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Hi guys! I hope you like this story so far. Here is the continuation:

 **Chapter 2: A Place In This World**

APOV (13 years old - 2006):

I thought I had actually done it. I thought I had really pulled my plan off to perfection. Granted, it wasn't in the plan for Morton to actually slash my arm, but it's nothing a few stitches won't fix. It's not like I haven't had to give my mother stitches before. She wasn't a great mother, but she was the only parent I had. She didn't deserve to be murdered in cold blood, just so that my stepfather could have open access to his "of age" step-daughter. Carla might have been a flake, but even I know that children aren't supposed to be sexual objects for adults. I know that 13 is far too young for anyone to even consider having sex with.

After Carla's death, Morton really escalated. No longer was I allowed to spend my days at the public library, my former sanctuary and where I taught myself an incredible amount. There really is a book for almost anything, and the best part about reading books within the library is that you don't have to check them out. Instead, I spent my days trying to dodge his gaze and "accidental" caresses. He didn't know that I had hacked his phone. A few years ago, I wrote a program that allowed me to pair my phone with any phone in nearby proximity via Bluetooth and then maintain the cloned phone over distance. I did it to keep track of Carla's whereabouts. Morton's phone revealed that he was in cahoots with his neighbor, and that Carla was buried underneath the Lincoln's new pool.

When I was three, I realized that Carla didn't know how to care for a child. She was kind, but air-headed and a drunk. I don't know much about my father, other than he was husband number one. He served in the army and was killed in combat. I don't remember husband number two, as I was too young to remember anything by the time Carla left. I just know his name. She said she couldn't stay with someone who was always gone and that it was a mistake to marry another military guy.

We lived by ourselves for seven blissful years, with the exception of my time in the system after a concerned neighbor had reported Carla. When we were reunified, I made sure Carla always appeared to be a fit parent. Carla was always on dates or drinking, so I was always at the library. Beyond books, I was content to sit in front of the computer for hours. The first library I went to had the Oregon Trail installed on every computer; the existing high scores made the game appear difficult. It was easy enough to beat. I realized computers make sense to me. People don't.

It also wasn't in the plan for anyone to catch me dashing away. My meadow is over a mile away from the house and the entrance is well hidden. In all of my time here, I've never seen anyone else here. The plan was to rest here until nightfall, when I could resurface and disappear for good. Yet, someone caught me. He's not much older than me, but he's tall and scrawny. He's got copper-looking hair that's super messy. Most importantly, for some reason, he's handling all of the facts I just threw at him pretty well.

"So, Ana, what's your plan for getting out of here?" Christian asks.

"I was going to wait until nightfall. It wasn't in the plan to be injured." I admit.

He sighs. "Where are we? We must have run at least a mile away from the house."

"I don't know. I found this meadow the day I moved in. I've never seen anyone else here. It's west of the house."

He looks deep in thought. "I think there might be a shortcut to my house. We don't have to go back." He starts walking to the other edge of the meadow, and seems to be scanning the foliage.

"Come here, there's a hidden path. It should exit close to the boathouse, where I can hide you."

I follow him. I'm still unsure of what his angle is; he doesn't seem to want anything from me. I saw scars on his chest when he was taking off his t-shirt. Clearly, someone hurt him before.

We walk in silence as he tries to stick to an old worn path that almost seems to be disappearing under the overgrown plant life. Eventually, we do exit near a lake. He gestures for me to stick close to him as we run towards the boathouse.

"Okay. Stay here. I'm locking the door behind me, so open it when I knock 3 times. I'm going to run into the house and find the first aid kit. How's your arm?" He asks.

I shrug. "It doesn't hurt much. I have a high pain tolerance. If you can find alcohol, that'd be good too."

The boathouse is more extravagant than I would have thought. It's nicer than most places I've lived. I sit on the couch and wait for Christian to return.

When I hear the triple knock, I open the door. Christian comes walking in, wearing a t-shirt identical to the one he gave me and holding a half-empty bottle of whiskey and the first aid kit. I gesture towards the t-shirt, and he explains. "I figured I should be wearing what I wore to Elena's in case I ran into my parents. Luckily, mom and dad should be at work for another two hours."

I untie the t-shirt strip to better see the wound. Thankfully, it's on my non-dominant arm. I grit my teeth and pour the whiskey over the wound, before wiping the area with gauze. I carefully stitch it shut, and then take a swig of whiskey.

"When did you learn how to do that?" Christian gestures towards my arm.

"I was ten when Morton married my mom. He didn't take long to start beating her, but of course he'd never take her to a hospital. I watched a lot of videos on the subject, practiced on fruit we had, and stitched up my mother."

"Why didn't you tell the police? It's their job to protect people." He asks.

"Why do you have a surgical needle and thread? Your turn to answer some questions."

"My mother's a doctor. I've been in a lot of fights so she just brought a few kits home instead of taking me to the hospital."

"I don't like cops. Too many of them are dirty. Morton had a friend on the force that helped him cover up Carla's death. Did you at least win these fights?"

"I've never lost." He runs his hands through his hair. "I've got a high pain tolerance too. You don't have any other family that you could have run to?"

"I'm on my own. Always have been, essentially. Why do you have scars on your chest?"

He grabs the whiskey and takes several swigs. "I'm adopted. My birth mother's pimp burned me with cigarettes."

"Oh." I think I should be expressing empathy or sorrow, but those aren't emotions I understand personally. I've read about the definitions but I've never felt them.

He rolls his eyes. "I don't know if I should be grateful or offended that you're not pitying me."

"That's not something I know how to do."

"Do you ever wish you could?" He asks.

"I don't feel remorse or longing for a change, so it's hard to say I wish I could. I don't know what life would be like if I could. Maybe it'd be better, but maybe it would be worse. I only know that what I do feel is anger. The thing that pisses me off the most is when people who can actually love endanger the ones they claim to love. I have to believe that there's more to this world than drunk mothers and sociopathic stepfathers." I explain. "Do you like your adoptive family?"

"They're wonderful people, but I feel like I'm always disappointing them. It's how I ended up at the Lincolns'." He groans. "I'm going to be in so much trouble when my parents found out I just left."

"How do you disappoint them?"

"It pains my mother that she can't hold or hug me the way she can my siblings. My parents are fed up with my drinking and fighting." He grips his hair again. "I get in fights in part because it's the only touch I can handle. I have -"

"Haphephobia." I finish for him. When I was ten, I spent a week learning about phobias.

"Yeah. Therapy hasn't done anything to change it."

"Therapists are just expensive charlatans."

He laughs. "That's one way to put it."

"Just because you can't handle your family's touches doesn't mean you can't handle their love. There's got to be more to this world for you than staring down into empty bottles with bruised knuckles. Fake it until you make it." I glance at the clock on the wall. "I should be going."

"Where are you going?" He asks.

I shrug. "I'm going to find my previous step-father."

"Wait. Do you need money? I can give you what's left of my allowance for this month."

"Don't worry. Before Morton met his end, I transferred every dime he has into an offshore account. I'm set."

He laughs again. "Figures. You're scary, you know that?"

I shrug. "That's okay."

He helps me sneak out to the driveway. "Stay out of trouble, Christian. I'll be watching. Thanks for the help, and remember this never happened." I warn him.

"Scout's honor." He replies, as I walk away.

* * *

APOV (25 years old - 2018):

I needed to hear Christian's voice to remember what I'm fighting for. Now more than ever, I'm determined to ensure that no one can ever connect who I am to him. He's always questioned how secretive and cautious I've been regarding how we communicate, but Ray always advised me, "Only the paranoid survive. Always hold insurance policies, but never give other people leverage." I lost Ray, but I'm not letting them touch Christian as long as I'm alive. After all, Christian is my only friend.

Twelve years ago, I set out to find husband number two. Raymond Steele. A man that had served at one point with my birth father. He was hard to find. The man had become a ghost of sorts. Through hacking into the army's databases, I had found out that he had been listed as MIA and what files I could find were heavily redacted. It took the FBI two years to finish closing the investigation into Elena Lincoln, moving my mother to an unmarked grave in a local cemetery. It was there that I found Ray. Seems we both had the idea to say goodbye. Apparently, a month before her death, she had called a burner number he had given her, asking him to come back.

He recognized me immediately. He explained that he was trying to come to her rescue but needed to complete his current mission. While serving in the military, he had been Special Forces. Someone higher up had noticed his skills. A government-run black-ops agency that targeted threats to national security came to scout him. The catch? He had to prove he was willing to give up everything and that he was devoted to the purpose. So, he pushed Carla away when I was two. He kept tabs from far away when he could, trying to ensure we would have normal lives. Additionally, he wanted to make sure it was clear that he didn't care to prying eyes who might leverage us against him.

He sensed that I needed a purpose, after learning that I had been behind Morton's death and the subsequent FBI investigation into Lincoln. And so I joined the Intelligence Support Activity, or the ISA at "18." I've spent the last ten years acting as an operative with Ray as my partner. We've never failed on a mission, but that didn't stop the ISA from burning Ray. I've learned that retirement from the ISA means an early grave, in Ray's case. When our old handler retired, we were assigned Jack Hyde. He's the one who set Ray up as a traitor to die.

The worst part of it all? Hyde killed Ray because of me. When Hyde became our handler, he flirted heavily with me, trying to angle for a less-than-professional relationship. Ray shot him in the kneecap when he had the nerve to grope my ass. Hyde never let it go. Now Hyde's coming after me with the help of one of the world's deadliest organizations to clean up his deceit.

He doesn't know that I'm on the hunt for revenge. I'm going to kill Jack Hyde, and then find Control. I'm going to give them the proof Hyde is the traitor. Furthermore, I have an insurance policy in place. If the higher-ups try to sign off on my death the way they did Ray's, a program I've written will release live-GPS tracking of every Congressman and the President, as well as their entire family. It's a code I wrote into the NSA's surveillance feeds, undetectable but lethal. The ISA might be good at finding people, but I'm better.

Hyde can run, but he can't hide. Let the games begin.

AN2: I just want to thank everyone who gave the first chapter a chance! I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Thank you so so much to everyone who favorited, followed, and/or left a review! It means the world to me to have feedback, as this is my first attempt at a story! Here are some questions I was asked.

Q: Are Mia and Ana the same age?

A: The age difference between Ana and Christian is different in this story to make it less of a stretch for Ana's intelligence. I changed Mia's age too to keep her age the same.

Q: What does Ana do for a living?

A: Answered in the chapter - I was inspired by the TV show Person of Interest regarding her occupation and her skills. The ISA does exist in real life though!

Q: What happened to Elena?

A: That will be revealed very soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: That Color Blue**

CPOV (15 years - 2006):

Life feels surreal as I watch Ana walk away. I quickly clean up the boathouse, placing the first aid kit back in my mother's medicine cabinet before returning to my room. Ana is simultaneously the most intriguing and frustrating person I've ever met. It appalls me how little she truly considers her safety, yet I have to admit she's incredibly self-sufficient. I could definitely learn from her. Her words linger on my mind - I can't stand the thought of being like Ella, reliant on a drug and oblivious to life.

I want to be worthy of my family's love. I want to prove to Grace that I was worth saving. That I still am. I dump out the rest of the whiskey and wash the bottle, determined to start making progress. Perhaps I can take my skills at fighting and put them towards a legal outlet. I find a list of MMA gyms in the area and compile information about pricing, locations, and hours of service. Lastly, I look up military schools, finding one in Pullayup.

With my new research in hand, I'm ready to face my family at dinner.

"Christian, Elena says she's sorry she didn't get to say goodbye to you today but she looks forward to having you help out again tomorrow." Grace says, passing me the basket of dinner rolls.

I cough, in part to mask my surprise. "Actually, Mom and Dad, I wanted to talk to you about that. Could we meet in the study after dinner?" I ask, not wanting to spoil dinner in case our conversation doesn't go the way I hope it will. I also don't want Mia to see the empty whiskey bottle.

Carrick's eyebrows nearly shoot up into his hairline. I admit, I don't typically use the words "Mom" or "Dad" very often.

He clears his throat. "I suppose that should be fine, Christian."

"Thank you. Mia, how was your day?" I ask, trying to get the attention off me.

She happily rambles on about life in middle school.

After dinner, I run upstairs to grab my laptop and the whiskey bottle before meeting my parents in the study. Carrick has poured himself a finger of scotch, no doubt trying to get some liquid courage for the upcoming conversation.

"Mom, Dad. I understand I am in no position to ask for lenience on my punishment. I not only broke school rules and your rules, but I broke your trust in me repeatedly. Yet, I do not think spending a summer at Elena's will be productive for me. I understand that this must make me seem like the world's biggest flake, or that I am trying to skimp on my punishment, but I believe there are better alternatives available. As a peace offering and a symbol that I want to truly change and be the son you deserve, I have dumped out the whiskey I know you guys know I had." I hold the whiskey bottle forward. "I promise not to purchase any more, and I can consent to random room searches to prove it. I admit I have anger issues, and I think verbal therapy may be insufficient. I looked up MMA gyms in the area. I built a Powerpoint presentation to show you guys options. I figure that if I have to fight, I should do it in a setting where I'm not breaking rules. It also provides me with an appropriate outlet." I continue, spinning the laptop to face them. "Lastly, should I get expelled from my next school, there is a military academy in Pullayup."

I finally look up, done with my presentation. Grace has tears in her eyes, while Carrick looks absolutely stunned.

"I suppose your proposal is reasonable. Would you like to take a tour of the gyms tomorrow? We'd also like you to find a job to pitch in for the lessons. Luckily, Grandpa Trevelyan is looking for some help in his office. Does that suit you?"

I nod eagerly. I've always enjoyed hearing Grandpa Trevelyan talk about his business. He's a wealth of information and advice, and I could foresee myself working in mergers and acquisitions.

Two weeks later, I'm happier that I've ever been. Learning how to spar has been one of the most rewarding experiences I've had, tiring me out enough to sleep more than before. Unfortunately, my nightmares persist, despite the exhaustion.

It's the night of the Coping Together gala my parents hold each year. I'm dreading seeing Elena tonight, knowing what I know about her. She's hounded Grace about why I haven't returned to her yard, but Grace approves of my progress and hasn't sent me back, seeing how I'm trying. I wonder how Ana's been since she disappeared into the night two weeks ago.

I do my best to stick by Elliot's side, with the hope of creating a buffer to ward Elena off if she approaches me. Luckily, Elliot is none-the-wiser, just happy to see me finally taking up my role as the little brother. "Christian, watch and learn how to woo the ladies." He smirks.

"The ladies? How old are you, Lelliot?"

I standby as he does his best to flirt with the teenage daughters of Grace and Carrick's guests. His goal of the night is to take a girl to the boathouse. He encourages me to do the same, but I just roll my eyes. I'm definitely not interested in any of the shallow girls here, nor would I ever let them touch me. It'd be hard to hookup with someone who doesn't understand my haphephobia.

As I almost consider going off on my own to avoid being a witness to Elliot's horrifying flirting skills, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. Grace and Cary gave it back last week, happy with my progress.

 _Boathouse. Now. - A._

My eyes dart around, trying to catch a glimpse of her. Elliot must have struck out with the girl, because he says, "Come on, Christian. I see a hot chick over there."

"Uh, you go ahead. I've got to run to the restroom." I casually excuse myself. I make my way to the house, waiting for him to reach the girl before I sneak off to the boathouse instead.

"Hey stranger." Ana says as I walk in. She's dressed to impress, and looks better than a lot of the socialites here. She's wearing an ice blue gown that makes me realize how blue her eyes are. Her gown is long-sleeved, no doubt to cover up the scar she must have on her arm. Her eyes are a novel shade of blue and twinkle with amusement at seeing me. Her long brown hair is up in an elaborate braided hair-do.

"Ana." I whisper, still in disbelief. I thought I'd never see her again. "What are you doing here?"

"Told you I'd be watching." She smiles. "I've got a surprise for you. I hope your parents don't mind terribly that their gala might go a tad off-script."

"What do you mean?" I'm nervous. Coping Together means so much to my parents.

"Oh don't worry, the charity will be fine. Even I wouldn't stoop so low to disturb children in need." Ana says. "It's just a certain guest tonight is going to have a fall from grace, no pun intended."

"Elena." I state.

"10 points to Gryffindor." She gestures to my red tie. "Funny, I would have pictured you in Slytherin."

"What are you going to do to Elena?" I ask.

"It's not what I'm going to do. It's what I've already done. I'm just here to watch it all play out. Should be quite a show." She checks her phone. "In fact, we should head out very soon. Don't want to miss a minute of it."

She puts her mask back on, and holds out her hand. Speechless, I take her hand and let her lead me out of the boathouse. I notice she sticks to walking in very specific areas, probably avoiding our security cameras. We stop when we reach the shadows of the massive tent, close enough to see inside, but far enough that we won't be spotted.

Over the orchestra playing music for the dance floor, I hear sirens approaching. I notice Elena alone at the edge, scanning the guests for someone. I watch her strike up conversation with Elliot, who seems to be laughing at her.

The sirens get louder and closer, and suddenly men in FBI jackets swarm the tent. The music screeches to a halt, guests are shrieking, but everyone freezes where they are. Two FBI agents approach Elena. "Elena Lincoln, you're under arrest for the murder of Richard Lincoln, human trafficking, one count of accessory to manslaughter, and four counts of rape of a child in the third degree. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to a lawyer. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided to you." They slap handcuffs on her.

As they lead her away, I hear my parents trying to return order to the gala from the stage. When they can't, they call the evening off.

"Her husband?" I turn to Ana.

"The other dead body." She answers simply.

"Why here? Tonight?" I ask.

"She's been off the grid. They couldn't find her, though they've been casing the house. The lead detective on Morton's case taught her how to stay off the grid. He finally cracked and took a plea deal. He didn't know where she was, but that she planned to come tonight for the one that got away. For you." She meets my gaze, unapologetic. "I gave the FBI everything they needed to close this case two weeks ago, but the only time they could catch her was tonight."

"For me." I echo.

"She wanted to kidnap you tonight, before making her grand escape for good. I don't know what she would have done with you, as I doubt you'd fall into her trap if she kidnapped you. It'd definitely weaken the whole 'I'm just helping you' act she uses." Ana explains. "Like I said, I'd be watching out for you."

"Thank you." I whisper, shocked.

"It was nothing. I had my own reasons."

"What reasons?" I ask, curious and needing a distraction from the information she just dropped on me.

"I'm Ana now. I need to make sure no one looks for who I used to be. The dirty detective called foul play on Morton, suspecting that I was abducted. I just played his hand. Turns out Elena and Morton were operating some human trafficking operation. I gave my old identity to one of the girls who looks similar enough and who doesn't remember who she really is. She'll get a new chance at life, just like me. The FBI will have one less loose end to tie off." She explains.

"Guessing you're never going to tell me your real name." I state.

She smirks. "Look at you, boy genius. Stay smart. Remember, you never saw me. Now get back to the party."

"You're leaving?" I ask.

"I've got places to be and people to see." She waves and quickly disappears into the swarm of people leaving the gala. I try to follow her, but am almost immediately stopped by Mia.

"Christian! You missed it. Elena was arrested! Mom and Dad are freaking out." Mia shrieks, grabbing my hand to lead me back to my family.

Grace is crying into Carrick's arms when we reach them, with a FBI agent standing nearby. "Oh my dear boy, I am so sorry I sent you to her house. Agent Wallace told us that you were her target tonight."

"I'm okay, Mom. I guess it's a good thing I don't like crowds and went up to my room to catch my breath." I say.

"If she had taken you..." Carrick's voice cracks with emotion I don't ever recall him expressing.

"She didn't."

"It's not often that anonymous tips play out so successfully. I'm glad this one did." Agent Wallace shakes our hands, before following the remaining agents out.

* * *

CPOV (27 years old- 2018):

I'm sitting behind my desk, reviewing the financials for the latest company I'm considering acquiring, when Taylor bursts into my office, looking frantic.

"Taylor?" I ask, alarmed. Very little ever cracks the emotionless mask of my head of security.

"Sir, we have a situation. Someone broke into the server rooms on the seventeenth floor and stole a copy of a program. The new compression program that Grey Technologies just developed." Taylor informs me.

I see his concern. The program was a confidential development, as it's a fairly novel concept. It had strong potential to be an enormous moneymaker, and it was developed by Barney, my head of IT and prized coder. If it was the victim of corporate espionage, we'd lose all right to it.

"Have you reviewed the security tapes?" I ask.

"Yes, sir. Suspect must have hacked the cameras, as there is no presence of them on the feeds until they reach the server room. They wore a ski mask inside the server room, but here's a picture of their face. Almost as if they wanted the camera to capture their eyes." Taylor pulls up the screenshot on his iPad. My breath escapes me as I recognize those eyes. Only one person has eyes that color blue, and our last conversation repeats in my mind. "Caught in a horrible mess" has echoed in my mind since that call.

"Whose badge does she have?" I ask.

"It's a forged one. She must have hacked the employee database." He replies. "Name is Rose Wilks-Morton."

I almost laugh at another conversation we had twelve years ago, where I surmised she'd never tell me her real name. I guess Ana is always full of surprises.

"Never heard of her." I keep my expression neutral.

"No one has. Welch did a background check, but the only Rose Wilks-Morton in the United States lives in Georgia and hasn't used the last name Wilks-Morton in eleven years, since being adopted by the Lyons." Taylor explains. "Sir, I can assemble a team to track her down."

"Don't." I say. "If this thief was skilled enough to take the program, we'll never catch her. We just need to wait for her to play her hand." I trust Ana unconditionally, so if she needed the program, I'd let her take it. I'm sad she didn't come directly to me, but I can only guess that it must involve the mess she refuses to bring near me.

"Sir?" Taylor looks surprised.

"That's an order, Taylor. Not a request." I answer, using my angry CEO voice, as Ana named it.

"Yes, sir." Taylor nods and leaves the room.

I sigh when the door shuts. I close my eyes and say a prayer, asking for Ana to return to me safe and sound.

AN: Sorry for the late update! Life's been a little crazy recently. Thanks for all of the follows, favorites, and reviews! Let me know what you think of this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Our Secret Moments, Golden Tattoos**

APOV (14 years old - 2008):

It's been over a year since the Coping Together Gala. It's been over a year since I've seen Christian. Chasing down the ghost named Raymond Steele has been a full time pursuit, but even I'm at the end of my capabilities. It took a couple of months and three burnt safe-houses before I could hack into the Army's databases. Luckily, I've always been frugal, and chose notorious gang hideouts to hack from. Public safety has certainly increased even if my progress hasn't. I found that Raymond was originally stationed in Pullayup, which explains how he and Carla met, as Carla had never lived outside of Washington. After tracking down each and every lead, I always arrived back at square one, which was nothing.

Nothing is an adequate word to summarize my life at the moment. The FBI have been dragging their asses in regards to closing the case, even though there are no loose ends. I'm just ready for them to bury Carla so I can say goodbye. With any luck, it'll be before the year's over. Elena was convicted and sentenced to fifty to life; with some manipulation of the prison's computer systems, she'll never be paroled.

I've kept tabs on Christian, but he's been doing fine on his own. I briefly reached out to him on his birthday last year through a burner phone.

With nothing to do and no idea what I should be doing, this year, I figure I'll go see him in person on his birthday. His brother Elliot created a Facebook event to celebrate the occasion at a 17+ club in the city. With enough makeup, the right outfit, and some heels, I'll easily pass for 17.

The night of June 18th is clear, a stark difference from the rain Seattle's had nonstop the past few days. I get into the club easily enough; the bouncer was busier ogling my chest than my ID. It took a substantial amount of patience on my part to not attack the bouncer.

Spotting Christian is even easier. His unique hair is ever sticking up, as if he's been pulling on it. At least I'm not the source of exasperation this time. The source of exasperation appears to be a blond guy making a scene around him, trying to pull girls into their booth, Elliot. The adopted brothers are wearing expressions that look like night and day. Christian's annoyance is evident, and Elliot's joy is undeniable. You'd almost think it was Elliot's birthday.

I stake out the path from their booth to the restrooms and find an empty table on the path that also has a clear view of the exit. This way, I won't lose sight of him. I sip on the mocktail I got from the bar and lament the fact that there isn't alcohol in my drink.

Luckily, Christian doesn't keep me waiting long. "Hey stranger." I call out as he walks past me on his way to the bathroom, echoing my greeting from the last time we saw each other in person.

His head whips around so fast, startled. "Ana." He whispers. "What are you doing here?"

"Happy birthday. I figured I should come tell you in person this year. Elliot made a Facebook event visible to all of his friends, and he's a sucker for blonde coeds. Wasn't hard to get on his list of friends with a fake account." I explain. "So, were you really going to the bathroom, or did you just need to get away from him before you pulled all of your hair out?"

"Get me out of here." He laughs. "Where are we going to?"

"The city's our oyster, Christian. The night's still young, and there's a lot of fun that can be had." I take his hand and lead him out of the club.

"You're always leading me places." Christian comments.

"You always let me." I reply. "How do you feel about arcades?"

"I've never been to one." Christian says.

I stop suddenly and turn to face him. "Are you kidding me?"

"No."

I turn back around and drag him faster. "Whoa, what's the rush?" Christian asks, alarmed.

"We need to right this wrong. I can't believe you haven't been to an arcade."

He laughs and picks up his pace. "Okay, okay."

We end up at a late-night arcade that closes at 3 am. Christian is silent when we walk in, taking in all of the flashing lights and sounds around the room.

"This is..." His eyes are full of amusement and joy, though his expression also has hints of another emotion.

"Come on. I'm buying us enough tokens so we can play every game at least once." I start walking to the token booth.

"Ana, let me pay." He protests, reaching for his wallet.

"Absolutely not." I scoff. "One, it's your birthday. Consider this my gift, because I didn't actually get you anything. Two, I've got money. It's not a problem, trust me."

He runs his hand through his hair. "Fine. But I reserve the right to get you a bigger gift on your birthday. I demand a means of two-way communication when you leave this time."

"Fair." I concede.

Christian is like a little kid in a candy shop for the first time as we make our way through the games. I've learned that he's equally competitive as me, as we battle through skeeball, Dance Dance Revolution, shooting hoops, and racing. We team up for other games, and have a blast collecting tickets. He sets a high score for the arcade in Pacman to his delight. He proudly types in CTG as I clap for him. We laugh and push each other, and for the first time in years, I feel a small hint of something other than anger and nothing. I'd wager that I'm happy even.

At the end of the night, his arms are full of the tickets we've acquired. I lead him to the prize booth. "So birthday boy, what are you taking home?" I gesture to all of the oversized stuffed animals.

He laughs. "You pick. I don't know what I'd do with any of these prizes."

I peruse the options. "The bear."

The giant brown bear leaves us with enough tickets to get smaller prizes. I spot a sheet of gold temporary tattoos and grab those, along with a few silly knick knacks.

"Stickers?" Christian asks.

"Nope. Temporary tattoos. Another first?" This is apparently a night full of firsts.

"Yes."

"Excellent."

Outside of the arcade, I start walking towards a street I know is notorious for homeless families. "Are you sure we should be going this way?" Christian asks.

"Trust me. Besides, I can take care of myself. And I'm guessing you can too, given that you've been taking lessons at a MMA gym." He holds the bear in one arm and my hand in the other. The tattoos and knick knacks are in his pocket.

In the darkness of early morning, we find a mother watching over her young daughter sleeping. She smiles weakly at us from across the street. I grab the bear out of Christian's arms and walk it over to her. Christian follows me silently.

"Does your daughter like stuffed animals?" I ask. "This bear needs a friend."

The mother's smile grows. "She'd love him."

"Excellent." I pass the bear over and grab Christian's hand again, pulling him back the way we came.

"That was a really nice thing to do." Christian comments.

"When I was really little, I had a stuffed teddy bear. It was nice to hold. They lost it in the process of reunifying Carla and me. I've got no use for them now, but other little kids might." I say simply.

"I had this little ratty blanket I used to curl up under." Christian replies. "I dragged it everywhere I went." He laughs a little. "I don't remember much about my life before I was adopted, but I remember that blanket."

I smile as we reach our next destination, a 24/7 diner. "Milkshakes and fries?" I ask.

His nose scrunches a little. "Here?"

I roll my eyes. "It won't kill you. Besides, they have amazing milkshakes."

He follows me in. We each order a milkshake and decide to split an order of fries. The waitress leaves us two cups of waters.

"Hand me the tattoos." I grab my napkin and bunch it up so I can dip it into the water when I need to.

He puts the sheet of tattoos on the table. "Okay, now pick one." I tell him.

His expression is nearly one of horror. "No!"

"Christian, it'll wash off in two days. We'll have matching tattoos for a couple of days."

"Fine." He points to a simple set of stars and rolls his eyes. "But I want mine somewhere no one's going to see it."

I shift to his side of the booth and lift the sleeve of his t-shirt up until I find a good spot on his shoulder. When I'm done the process of applying his tattoo, I pass him the sheet and napkin, holding out my arm.

He smiles again as he repeats the steps I took and applies my tattoo. "Okay, it wasn't that bad." He concedes.

"I told you so."

He groans with pleasure when he sips his milkshake after the waitress returns with our food. "Remind me not to protest your ideas anymore."

"If you dip a fry in your chocolate milkshake, it's even more incredible." I comment, doing just that. I ordered vanilla, so we would have two different flavors.

We spend the rest of the night talking and laughing. We watch the sunrise from Ravenna Park. With the sunrise comes the reality that our fun night couldn't last forever.

"I should go home soon. Elliot's probably convinced I spent the night in a girl's bed." Christian sighs. "You're not going to disappear this time, are you?"

"Not when you have so many experiences to be had. Who waits seventeen years to visit an arcade?" I reply.

He laughs. "You know how to find me. I expect to see you soon."

"Get home, birthday boy."

"Bye stranger."

* * *

APOV (25 years old - 2018):

I can certainly say I never expected to crash a Senator's campaign gala. I know Christian is on the RSVP list, but I certainly hope he stays as far away from the Senator as he can. Who would have thought that Senator Roach of Washington would be Special Counsel, the closest to Control I'll get for now. He'll do though, as I only need him to pass along a message.

I wonder if Christian has gotten my message yet. Before I was Ana, I was Rose, an answer to a burning question Christian has asked over the years. He scooped up a computer wonderboy as his head of IT. Barney wrote a compression program I needed in order to bring my program to life. I needed to fit a copy of the program onto something small enough to carry to demonstrate its abilities. I'm just relieved to stop having to take down former colleagues, as Hyde has been pretty ruthless in sending hit squads after me. He stopped once the body count was reaching a point where he'd be under scrutiny.

Speaking of the program, I tap the earpiece in my ear. "Can you hear me?" Ray's voice comes through. Call it morbid, but I liked the concept of Ray getting his own revenge, so I named the program after Ray and gave it Ray's voice.

"Yes." I have Ray tapped into every camera in this building as an additional security measure.

"Targets approaching in one minute."

Hyde will be here tonight, acting as Roach's security. I wait on the balcony of the upper level of the banquet hall. I spot Christian's copper hair in the crowd, and I mentally will him to stay down there or even to leave. I know how he hates mingling with Seattle's upper class.

Roach, Hyde, and another security grunt arrive.

"I'm not Control, but you know that. I'm Special Counsel, and I'm the closest you'll get." Roach states. "You understand our program's need for loyalty and secrecy."

"I do. That's why I brought you this." I pass over a flash drive that has all of "Ray's" documents. In reality, it is all of the documents Hyde used to frame Ray in addition to evidence of Hyde's tampering.

"Morgan was right. You didn't want revenge. You wanted to protect the program." Roach comments. Morgan is the head trainer for new agents, and was responsible for a lot of my instruction at the academy.

"A good soldier does both." I whip out my H&K USP Compact in .45 ACP and fire two shots into Hyde, before sending a third into the center of his head. The silencer leaves the crowd below us oblivious.

"Now, let's talk business. You can let me go under the pretense of letting me go but send people after me until I'm dead. Perhaps you even have a plan for tonight." I gauge his expression. "So there is someone waiting for me in the street."

"The alternative?"

"You can let me go with no pretense. I have no interest in exposing the program. You leave me alone, I leave you alone. You don't leave me alone, and this will be available to every hostile party you can imagine." I pass him the tablet I've configured to demo the program.

He blanches. "How..."

"That's for me to know and you to fear. Know that there's nothing you can do to bring it down, short of destroying this country. But neither you nor I want this country to suffer, do we? After all, I've spent my career protecting national security. You kill me, this goes live for everyone to see. You let me go and I forget that you and this agency ever existed."

He gulps and pulls out his phone. "M'am. We need to call the hit off."

The voice on the other end sounds displeased.

I roll my eyes and extend my hand. He passes me the phone. "Pleasure to meet you, M'am."

Ray pops up. I paired my phone with Special Counsel's, giving Ray a way to trace the other end of the call. I now know who Control is, where she lives, and the one person she cares about.

"Who am I speaking to?"

"You know me as Indigo Five Alpha."

Silence. "I am certainly sorry things had to reach this point. You were a valued operative."

"As am I. A woman of your reputation doesn't acquire such a reputation without being ruthless, Diane. But that's just another alias, isn't it?" I have no patience for fake niceties. "You see, you had the one person I liked killed. I don't have any ill will towards the agency. It was just business, after all. But don't mistake my loyalty for naivety. Unless you want live-tracking of every Congressman, the President, and their families, you'll leave me alone. I'll know if you're lying. I don't have anything to lose, anymore. But you do, don't you?"

"You're not convincing me not to kill you." She seethes.

"Elaine. Georgetown Episcopal Academy."

The other end of the line is silent. "Fine."

"Excellent. It's truly been a pleasure, M'am." I hang up and give Roach his phone back.

"You're truly terrifying to witness." Roach comments. "I see why Hyde and Ray always valued you so much."

"You should vet your operatives better. Hyde was a waste of space."

"Is there nothing I can do to convince you to stay? We're running low on manpower."

I scoff. "Thanks for the offer, but I'll pass. Senator, I'm sure the wonderful socialites of Washington are missing your presence."

"Indeed." He turns and his remaining security grunt watches me as they retreat.

Once they're gone, I take cues from Ray to make my exit without being seen on any security cameras. Once outside, I stay in zones where Ray is active so that I can have him watching my back, as I don't trust Diane to call off her hitman.

Ten blocks later, I'm back at the hotel I chose to stay at. Ray confirms that I've made it back unfollowed. Inside my hotel room, I strip off the wig and colored contacts of the night.

"Only the paranoid survive, right Ray?" In the past ten years, only Ray and Christian have seen my true appearance. I've always kept my hair dyed and wore wigs over it, in addition to different colored contacts, under the guise of maintaining different aliases when truly I wanted to keep Ana hidden for if and when I wanted out.

Tucking the wig and contacts into my purse for a better time to destroy them, I carefully exit the hotel, having already used Ray to check me out.

Hailing a taxi, I ask to be dropped off in Pike Place. There should be a sizeable crowd I can blend into before making my way to Christian.


End file.
